The Shadow of Change
by Una-Blythe
Summary: Six years after "The Golden Road", the comrades of the old orchard return to Carlisle for a wedding.
1. Prologue

**The Shadow of Change**

_The delight of the world had been ours on the golden road. It had enticed us with daisies and rewarded us with roses. Blossom and lyric had waited on our wishes. Thoughts, careless and sweet, had visited us. Laughter had been our comrade and fearless Hope our guide. But now the shadow of change was over it._

**_The Golden Road__, Chapter 33—"The Story Girl Goes"_**

Once, my comrades and I traversed a golden road.  We laughed and dreamed, longing for the days when we would reach adulthood with all its excitement and joy.  Excitement and joy, it is true, we have found our share of, but we never knew of all the sorrows life could bring.  

_"I do like a road, because you can be always wondering what is at the end of it."_  Sara said that once—Sara, with a voice that must have been given to her by the Muses, a voice that could make you stay and listen forever.  Sara found her road—all of Europe knows of the famous Sara Stanley, acclaimed actress.  Even now that we're approaching our sixties, she still is the toast of monarchies—at least, what monarchies are left.

But I get ahead of myself.  In my last story, I ended with all of our roads diverging—Sara to Paris, Peter to Markdale, and Felix and I to our home in Toronto, while the Kings and Sara Ray stayed in Carlisle.  In order to preserve the continuity, I shall recommence with the time when all roads led back to the old King farm…the last time that we were ever all together.

**Author's Note:**  This story is a sequel to _The Story Girl and __The Golden Road, not _Road to Avonlea_.  So if you're wondering why Sara is the oldest of the cousins, why Felix is a cousin to Felicity and Cecily instead of their brother, or where Gus Pike is, that's why.  This story picks up 6 years after __The Golden Road ends, in 1896.  It also fits into the framework of my story "The Piper," where Bev and Sara reappear…in fact, trying to discover their backstory led to this story being written.  Many thanks to my beta-readers, Portia Sue and Maren of Minnesota.  _

I hope you enjoy the story…feel free to review and let me know what you think is going to happen.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

When Felix and I stepped off the train at Carlisle that summer's day, it was like coming home after a long absence.  I suppose, in a way, it was—that year and a half spent on the old King farm had been one of the most beloved times of our childhood.  But it was an adult occasion that called us home now, for the first two of our comrades of the old orchard were to be married.  

When Aunt Janet had written Father of Peter and Felicity's engagement, Felix had let out a whoop of amazement.

"Did you ever hear of such a thing, Bev?" he asked incredulously.  "I never thought that Felicity would finally give in.  She was so dead set against Peter when we were there."

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Felix King, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," I misquoted.  "It always seemed to me as if Felicity cared more for Peter than she ever wanted to let on."

Felix looked dubious, but refrained from disagreement.  After a minute, he perked up.  "At any rate, it'll be a good chance to see all the family again.  Hopefully the wedding will be once I get done with school and you get done with college for the summer, Bev."  He looked at Father.  "Does Aunt Janet say when the wedding will be?"

"June," Father said, glancing again at the letter.  "June on the Island, boys!  It's been so long since I've seen the old farm—we'll have to make a regular visit of it."  He looked out of the window with eyes that I knew were not seeing the cold March sky of Toronto but rather early summer on a Prince Edward Island farm, the loveliest sight imaginable.

I was seeing the same sight, but foremost in my mind were the children I had played with—no longer children, but young men and women now, I reminded myself.  Dan, Felicity, Cecily, Peter, Sara Ray—and the Story Girl, whose letters from Paris never failed to bring me delight. 

"Does Aunt Janet say if Sara will be able to come?" I asked.

"I believe she says she will—yes, Sara finishes with acting school in May and will sail for the Island afterwards."

"And Uncle Blair?"

"Janet doesn't say—I suppose it will depend on where his painting jaunts lead him at that time."  

"All of us together again—won't that be jolly?" Felix said.  "That is," he added gloomily, "if Felicity doesn't decide at the last minute to throw Peter over."

******

Felicity having proved steadfast in her love, Felix and I were waiting at the Carlisle station that afternoon filled with anticipation over seeing the family.  Father, however, had been unable to come, much to his—and our—dismay.  He had had the opportunity to go back to South America for two months, and it was an offer too good to refuse.  

"Listen to the frogs for me, boys," had been his parting words to us.  I had realized, seeing the look of nostalgia on his face, that he missed the farm on the hill as much as we did—if not more.  

But I regret to say that we were thinking very little of Father as we saw Dan approach with the wagon, waving at us as soon as he could make out who we were.  As he pulled up to the station, his mouth—as large and twisted as ever—broke into a friendly grin.

"I swear, but isn't it swell to see you two again!"  

"And you too," I replied, returning the grin.  "It's been too long."

"You couldn't convince anyone else to come along with you for the ride?" Felix asked, looking at the wagon.  "It used to be that everyone was always ready for a trip to town."

Dan rolled his eyes.  "It's this wedding nonsense.  The Story Girl got here yesterday, and Felicity wanted to make sure that her bridesmaid dress fit 'just right'.  So they've been poking and trimming and frilling and whatnot for hours now, it seems.   Cess was going to ride along, but she's been feeling a bit under the weather all spring, and Ma wanted her to take a nap before you two came."

Felix looked concerned.  "She never mentioned in any of her letters that she wasn't feeling well."

"It isn't much of anything…just a cough, but Ma didn't want her to overdo."

"That's probably just as well," Felix said, nodding.

I climbed up on the front seat next to Dan, while Felix sat in back with our luggage, and we kept up a running conversation on the inhabitants of Carlisle—primarily the ones who had played together in the old King orchard—for the journey home.

"Yes, Sara Ray's grown up a bit," Dan said.  He tried to suppress a snigger but failed.  "She still cries, though, but not nearly as much.  Her latest obsession is crazy quilts—she's made six of them in the past year."

"That seems a mite…crazy," Felix piped up from the wagon bed.  "Why so many?"

"Well, it's a useful occupation, and so her mother approves," Dan grinned.  "Besides, she wants to be all ready for the day when some dashing young man proposes to her—so if either of you are looking for a girl with six crazy quilts, Sara's ready to be had for the asking."  He turned in his seat and looked solemnly at Felix.  "You do know that Sara Ray was always a bit sweet on you, right?"

Felix looked mutinous, and I could tell that it was time for brothers to stick together.  "What's this I hear about you and a certain Miss Marr?"

Dan flushed a bit, but shrugged his shoulders.  "That's confidential information.  Besides, one wedding around here will be enough for a few years to my way of thinking.  The women-folk have gone clean daft on the cooking and cleaning!"

"Better see what Kitty has to say about that," Felix chaffed him.  "Seems to me like she might think that a few years was a bit long to wait."

"We'll see," Dan said.  "Anyhow, we need to think of some good tricks to play on Felicity and Peter in the next week.  They leave for St. Columba's Seminary in Nova Scotia right after their honeymoon."

"Peter's settled on being a minister, then?" I asked.

"Well, he'll have his first sermon already prepared," Felix muttered.  "_If his congregation doesn't have a history of hysterics."_

"It looks that way.  He's smarter than I ever gave him credit for," Dan said, ignoring Felix's comment.  "He's studied with our new minister during the summers, and I guess that's why the presbytery is letting him start seminary so young."

By this time, we had reached the foot of the old lane going up the hill to Uncle Alec's, and as I saw the old willow tree, memories of the first time I had gone up this very lane came back to me.

"The train didn't even come to Carlisle back then," I mused, half to myself.  "We rode all the way from Charlottetown with Uncle Alec, hardly knowing what to expect.  It will be good to see him—good to see them all again."

As we passed by the entrance to the orchard, I could see a tall girl leaning on the fence, dreamily contemplating the distance.  Her skirts seemed longer than the last time I had seen her, and her brown curls were up in a pompadour, but she was still the same Story Girl.  

"Sara!" I called.  "We're here!"

"Bev!  Felix!  Oh, it's so _good to see you," the Story Girl said, running to meet the wagon, and to hear her voice made me realize that I was truly home again._

**Author's Note:  **Like it?  Hate it?  Review!  And once again, thank you to my betas, Portia Sue and Maren of Minnesota.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

We all had wanted to have our confab in the orchard that evening, in honor of days gone by, but a light rain was falling and so we met in Aunt Janet's kitchen.  It was, I suppose, a simple Prince Edward Island country kitchen, much like many others, but that night it was the dearest spot on earth to us.  In order that our bodies as well as our souls might be refreshed, Cecily had offered to pop some corn for us, and Felix assisted her.  Felicity and Peter sat together on the old blue chest, while the Story Girl, Dan, Sara Ray, and I all sat around the table.

There was so much to tell; so much to hear.  Peter's new horse, Dan's hopes of a good harvest, the number of doilies Felicity had crocheted—the myriad of little things that no one ever remembers to put into letters.

As we sat there talking, I looked around at my old playmates, trying to see how much—if at all—they had changed.  Felicity, it seemed, had changed very little.  True, she was even more beautiful at nineteen than she had been at thirteen, but time had not made her any more interesting to converse with.  Felicity was still dull, and it appeared that she always would be.

Peter, on the other hand, had probably changed the most of any of our group.  After his father's return had released him from the obligation of making sure that his mother was provided for, he had devoted much of his time to his schooling, completing the Markdale school and three years at the High at Summerside, besides studying with the Carlisle minister for the last few summers.  But being educated was not the only change in Peter.  He was confident in who he was, and even if by some happenstance one knew that he had been a hired boy, it neither showed nor mattered.

Dan was still the skeptic he had always been, inserting pinpricks of sharp wit into the conversation whenever he felt that someone—often Felicity—needed taking down a peg.  He and Peter appeared to have various theological arguments going in which Dan would come up with impossible conundrums and sit back and grin while Peter squirmed.

"Now, Reverend Craig, as one of your most stalwart parishioners, not to mention one of the most faithful contributors to your salary, I want to know—could God make a stone so big He couldn't move it Himself?"  Dan was doing a take-off on some church elder or another, I assumed, since Felicity and Sara Ray were trying their best not to laugh and failing utterly.

"Well, then, Deacon King," Peter replied, stalling for time.  I could see the wheels turning in his head.  "You know, sir, if He did do such a thing, I think He'd have a few other problems on His hands.  For one, why would He want a rock that large, and secondly, where would He put it?"

"You're the preacher, not me," Dan grinned.  "You tell us."

"Oh, stop it, Dan," Cecily said as she brought the bowl of popcorn over to the table.  "You're always making jokes about serious things.  Besides, Peter hasn't gone to seminary yet.  You always expect him to have all the answers to your questions, but I'd guess that even real preachers couldn't answer some of the ones you ask."  Sweet, serious Cecily, I thought to myself—utterly humourless and yet utterly endearing.  I tried to catch the Story Girl's eye to share my amusement, but she was idly staring at the wallpaper with a far-off expression on her face.

"I guess you're right, Sis," Dan said in a placating tone.  "I'll ask him again after he finishes seminary, and if he still doesn't know, _then I'll withdraw my contributions to the salary."_

"Sounds good," I added, winking at Dan.  "After all, Peter will have a wife to support.  Ministers have to keep careful records of all the money they spend and make sure that their wives don't have big fancy hats."  I half expected Cecily to be confused over Dan's imaginary financial support, but when I snuck a look at her, she was talking quietly with Felix about something to do with the last church social.

"Are _you_ going to be a minister _too_, Bev?" Sara Ray asked, smiling at me shyly.  Dan poked me in the ribs and whispered, _"Crazy quilts."_

"No, I'm studying journalism at McGill right now, and when I finish there, I want to work for a newspaper and travel."

"Oh," Sara said, looking rather disappointed.  Apparently journalism did not rate as high on her list of possible occupations for prospective husbands as the ministry.  "What about _you, Felix?"_

"I don't know for sure yet.  I just finished school this spring, and I think I might take the teachers' examinations and try for a school for a year or so before going to McGill.  I'm not as brainy as Bev over there—nor as ambitious."

 I could tell from the look on Sara Ray's face that she was about to deem it a pity that Felix was not ambitious, and in the interest of brotherly love, I decided to change the topic.  "So are you having a big dinner after the wedding?" I asked.

Cecily, Sara Ray, and the Story Girl all groaned, while Felicity smiled.  "Of course," she said.  "All of us girls are going to spend the next week cooking and cleaning in preparation for it."

"Are you having pudding?" Felix asked.  "If so, you better watch out for saw—"  He stopped his sentence abruptly, sneaking a look at the Story Girl's face.

The Story Girl flushed, but her eyes twinkled.  "Hopefully I'll be helping Aunt Janet with the cleaning and sewing rather than the cooking."

Dan raised his eyebrows maliciously.  "I don't care if we have pudding or not, but, Felicity, if you can make sure that we have a fresh batch of rusks from the recipe you used when the Governor's wife came to tea, I'd sure appreciate it." 

Felicity glared at him.  "Donald King, it might be entirely possible that you'll be so busy that you won't have time to sit down and eat at all!"

"You never know," Peter said.  "While the rest of us are dancing, Dan could always eat up the leftovers."

"You're going to have a dance?" the Story Girl asked with a puzzled look on her face.  "I thought the presbytery frowned on their ministers dancing.  That's what Felicity said, anyway."

Peter shrugged.  "I haven't started seminary yet, and Felicity wants to have a dance.  So you two"—to Felix and I—"will have to polish your shoes and look for the pretty girls to dance with."  Sara Ray giggled.

"I don't think Bev will be interested," Felix said soberly, but with a twinkle in his eye.

"Why ever not?  Is there a lass back in Toronto who's caught your fancy, Beverley King?" Dan asked.

I felt my ears turn red, knowing who Felix was referring to.  I had squired Martha Pickering to several church events during the winter, and McGill University seemed to consider us something of an item.  But Martha, although she was a dear friend, didn't make my stomach twist itself up in knots whenever I saw her handwriting on an envelope…as certain letters from overseas always did.

"It's all in Felix's imagination," I said, trying to laugh.  "I'm beginning to think that he's a hopeless romantic at heart."

"I am not," Felix muttered.  He perked up and looked at the Story Girl.  "Sara, you've been awfully quiet this evening.  Do you have any stories for us?"

Much to my surprise, the Story Girl shook her head.  "I'm afraid not tonight."

Everyone blinked and looked at her.  "But you're the Story Girl!" Cecily said.  Her tone of voice was similar to one that you might use upon finding out that your parents were not truly your parents and that instead, you had been left in a basket on their doorstep.  

"You _always_ have a story to tell," Sara Ray said.

"Not tonight.  Maybe some other time, though," the Story Girl said.  Her voice was as beautiful as it had always been, but I suddenly noticed that it sounded tired and weary.  Perhaps the journey from Paris had been too taxing for her, I thought to myself.  At any rate, it would only take a few days before she was back to her normal, charming, alluring self.

After the Story Girl's refusal to tell us a story, the evening fell rather flat.  Felicity explained the intricacies of her trousseau to us until we were bored, I tried to talk about college doings, and Cecily explained the latest project of the Missionary Society (a jumble sale where all the neighbors could donate their unwanted items so they could become someone else's unwanted items), but somehow none of it could hold our attention.  Finally we all dispersed to our respective homes for the night.

"It's not quite like old times," I said to Felix as we climbed into bed.  "It's good, but it's not the same."

"I think it's better," Felix mumbled as he fell asleep, but when I asked him why, the only response I met with was a snore.

**Author's Note:**  As always, thanks for reading and if you care to, leave me a review…I'd love to hear what you think about the story and what will happen next.  Many thanks to Portia Sue, my wonderful beta-reader.  Cecily's jumble sale owes its inspiration to Connie Willis's book _To Say Nothing of the Dog_, which has no connections to this story except that I read the one while writing the other.  L. M. Montgomery owns the characters; I do not.


End file.
